What's new in adland?

Having spent some months locked in a violent, no-holds-barred, tear-your-cock-and-balls-off, pub-car-park fist-off with a coma, I've missed the developments that have swept through adland during that time.

So, with my urethra tube removed and my various colostomy attachments gone, I thought I'd take out my Knockoculars and survey the advertising, marketing, communicationing and customer engagementing industries.

(You know, I'll miss those colostomy attachments - I really will. Nothing beats taking a shit without even knowing about it. It's such a gift. We should all have them fitted at birth.)

Anyway, what's the scene on the horizon of the landscape in the vista across the topography of the panorama I see before me?

Let's see.

Advertising

Right. What's happening with my first love? Advertising is the go-to trollop in my marcomms brothel, so I'm expecting a lot.

Oh. Oh God. Oh, Jesus and fucking Mary. What in the name of Simon Cowell's quim is this? This is...this is a fucking hate crime. This should go on trial at the Hague. This is...I can't find the words. This is worse than cat rape. This might even be cat rape - only cat rape perpetrated by a dog, which is the worst kind of cat rape imaginable.

Who are these hateful warblers? What is this? The Abu Ghraib Torture Choir?

What happened? What the FUCK happened? I NEED FUCKING ANSWERS.

Digital

Well, let's hope our digital brethren have spent the last months continuing the mindfucking revolution they're always telling us they started when they started slowing down the internet with their pointless shit all those years ago.

Hmm.

Let me see if I've got this straight. You've spent time, effort, thought and money on allowing me to point my phone at a coffee cup and make it look like whimsical cartoon characters are frolicking about it in a snowbound festive scene?

This gives me nothing more than 'entertainment', am I right?

Well, chaps, if that's your idea of entertainment, you're clearly a bunch of toddler-aged elves with attention-deficit disorder and a fucking Peter Pan complex worthy of PEE WEE CUNTING HERMAN. Fuck you, fuck your wives, fuck your pets, and fuck your brains, suspended as they are in sweety juice, nappy-squeezings, the dribble of little kittens and fucking cutey-pop fizzy bubbles.

Are you fucking stupid? Starbucks is for adults, you cuntshots, you spunkmops, you bowls of shit!

Still, I like the fact one can share one's cute little coffee experience. How cute! I know all my friends would love their in-box filled with this infantile, pointless, life-sapping enema-water.

Is this it? Seriously? I've been in a fistfuckfightfest with a coma since April and all you bunch of jizzends have come up with is THIS load of old horse-fudge?

It looks like I'm needed more than I ever was.

Well, I'm ready to answer the call. And I'll answer it with a one hand on the phone and the other on my ferocious penis, which I have just this minute named The Pink Dragon Of Justice.

Could this be my greatest ever era? You may depend upon it.

Why? Because I AM THE CLIENT!